D is for Delightful
by heymamawolf
Summary: Like a rare comet that crosses the Earth’s horizon once every eighty seven years, Temperance Brennan gets ridiculously trashed. Those lucky enough to witness said events are never quite the same after.
1. Of Spinsters & Tequila

**Rating: **T for language, and maybe more…? We'll see where this road takes us.

**Disclaimer: **Nothing's mine. I'm just a poor college kid with an overactive imagination. And the title's snagged from the Arctic Monkeys.

**Author's Note: **In my ideal world, this is what Brennan would be like drunk off her ass. Obviously, not at all what she's like sober, but isn't that the fun of it? No bones, no murders to solve, just some good old fashioned Booth/Bones banter and quality time. Enjoy.

**D is for Delightful** **(And Try To Keep Your Trousers On)**

**1. **

"Booth. Dance with me." There were forty minutes left in Brennan's birthday, and while she never understood the point in dedicating a day to commemorate someone's birth when the whole point of living was, in fact, to die, she was cornered and didn't have much of a choice in the matter. She was thirty three and apparently, according to Angela, it called for celebration. Brennan, however, thought otherwise. After spending the day contemplating this momentous milestone, she decided that 'sad' and 'old' seemed to be the best way to describe herself. Sad, old, and alone. A hag of a forensic anthropologist who spent more time with the dead than with the living. She might as well write that on her single's ad. Or better yet, crochet it into the sweaters she planned to knit for the eight cats she'd go adopt, because that's what sad, old spinsters do. They own too many cats and knit sweaters for them. Sure, a part of her knew that this logic was flawed, but the sheer volume of alcohol she had consumed in the past two hours made the scenario she'd drawn out remarkably real, and her judgment questionable, at best. About ten tequila shots ago, she had decided that lamenting the fact that she was destined to die alone could wait till tomorrow. Right now, however, she wanted to dance. With Booth.

"No." Booth replied almost automatically, knowing full well he was egging her on and what effect that two letter, one syllable word would have on her. He had laughed to himself as she stumbled towards him just moments before. He had never seen her quite this drunk before, and something told him he'd never see it again. So, of course, he was dead set on making the most of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

"_What_?" Her exaggerated response told him she was taken aback; shocked and appalled, even. She shook her head of the thought of rejection. "My ears must be playing tricks on me," she laughed, reaching out and grabbing Booth's arm, "I could have sworn you just said no. Now get up and get your dancin' shoes on, Booth-ey Boy, because me and you have a have a spot waiting for us right over there!" Booth's arm didn't budge as he placed his drink back on the bar and turned his head toward his hyper partner.

"What part of '_no_,'" he drew out the word jokingly, "do you not understand, Bones?"

"Oh, come _on_,don't give me this crap. You love to dance and I _know_ it. So come on!"

"Isn't the guy supposed to ask the girl, not the other way around?" His head tilted to the side as he leaned his elbows on the bar and found it harder and harder to suppress his grin.

"Okay, fine, then ask me to dance."

He cleared his throat then turned back towards the bar. "No thanks. And I know you work with skeletons all day long, but you might want to work on your bedside manner, Bones. Bossy's not becoming." He smiled to himself, quietly bracing for the fury she'd undoubtedly unleash upon him.

A few moments later, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Booth?"

"Yes?" He replied casually, turning back towards her.

"Is it or is it not my birthday?"

"Yes, it—"

"And were you or were you not the one who said it's, and I quote, 'my day'?"

"Yes, I was, but—"

"And was it not _you_ who convinced Angela to plan this whole—" she waved her hands above her head, not sure what would best describe where they were, what they were doing, and how laughably inebriated she _may _or _may not _have been, "—Whoop-dee-doo."

"Whoop-dee-do?"

"Yes, whoop-dee-do." She crossed her arms and raised her chin triumphantly. She was winning this battle, and there was no way that smug, amused look on his face could mock her into believing otherwise.

"Bones—"

"Answer!" She poked a warning finger in his face, "the question. Was it or was it not _you_—"

"Yes, okay, it was me!" She wasn't supposed to know that, but yeah, he was the one who cornered Angela during Brennan's lunch break a week ago and schemed this whole night into existence. And he couldn't help but feel particularly proud of himself as his usually straight-laced partner had chosen to throw her inhibitions to the wind in celebration.

"Okay then! So since it's _my_ day and this is _my _party, then that means _you_ have to do what _I_ say. And I say…Dance with me, Booth."

"Whoa there, who died and made _you_ supreme ruler of the world? Last time I checked, this is a free country."

"I can_not_ believe you!" Her arms were flailing again, but this time, it was rage she was directing at him. He couldn't fight a grin from crossing his lips as he felt like it was any other day back at the Jeffersonian. "It's only _logical_ to assume that by proclaiming a day as the possession of a _sole_ individual, that said individual would inherit all the rights and powers associated with such a role. Rights that would, _in fact_, supersede that of constitutional privileges normally awarded to the citizens of a democracy."

"Okay, first of all?" Booth pushed his stool out from under the bar, turned toward her, and clapped his hands theatrically. "The fact that you could put that many words together is incredible."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now second of all: for once, I _actually_ understood what you just said. And I hate to break it to you, babe, but you made _absolutely_ no sense." Brennan was never one much for trite pet names like 'babe' or 'doll.' She found them to be demeaning traces of woman's eternal struggle for acceptance and respect in a male-dominated society. Yet, somehow, when they rolled off of Booth's tongue they were considerably easier to stomach. Of course, were she in a bit more stable state of mind, she may have put up a decent fight, just for kicks. And to her credit, she tried, but somewhere between thoughts and speech, all rationality was lost in translation.

"Seeley Booth. You are like an endless…Spiraling…Hurricane. Of _hate_. And mockery and torment and frustration! You are like a big…hunk of _metal_ that will not, by any means, budge." She shook her fists in frustration. "One dance! Just one dance!"

Booth grinned mischievously, and nodded his head. "…So you think I'm a hunk?" He asked, his voice oozing sarcastic arrogance.

"Wha—I never sai—"

"You may not have said it, but you were thinking it," Booth replied, raising his eyebrows smugly as he turned back to his drink.

"Ugh, fine. If I say yes will you just dance with me already? It's my _birthday_, you have to dance with me!"

"Says the person who I had to _forcibly detain_ to get her to come to her own party."

"_Booth_."

"Okay, in all seriousness? I'm sorry, Bones, but…I've seen you dance. And you're not very good." He sipped his beer with a sly smile. He was really asking for it tonight.

Her jaw dropped and a rage he'd never seen before filled her eyes. "I am _not _a bad dancer. I'll have you know that I'm actually a really _good _dancer. Just ask Angela. And I find it _shocking _and _disheartening _that someone I _work_ with – a _colleague_ and _peer_,if you will –that I _respect _and _admire_, would stoop _so low_ as to—"

"You," Booth laughing loudly as he leaned towards her like he was spilling a secret he had been desperately trying to keep all night, "are so smashed."

"What?! Am not!" She replied stubbornly, stumbling over her feet before grabbing onto the bar for support. Their faces were inches away and his mischievous smile was all she saw.

"Are too." His voice was quiet and were she not so close, she probably wouldn't have heard what he said between the noise of the club and his laughter. His eyes softened for a split second before...

"Am not, am not, am not!" She shouted, stomping her feet like a petulant child. He turned back to his drink once more, raising his eyebrows questioningly with a glint in his eye. Brennan's glare narrowed as she stared at her partner bitterly. "Okay, _fine_, maybe I am….Just a little. What are _you _gonna do about it? Arrest me? Wave your _shiny_, little FBI badge at me and haul me out? Well last time I checked, buddy, prohibition ended seventy four years ago!"

The smile on Booth's face grew wider as he bit his lower lip and shook his head. "You are so far gone."

Brennan stood with her arms crossed, once again staring contemptibly at her partner.

"Okay, that's it." Much to his surprise, she reached over and pulled him up off his barstool so they were facing each other. "You," she poked her finger into his chest, "and me," then pointed at herself, "are dancing. Now off we go!" It took all the power in him to not burst at the seams in laughter as she twirled him around and led him from behind to the dance floor. This wasn't the Bones he knew, and something told him that she would have absolutely no recollection of her drunken escapades come morning.

"You know, Bones, I never would have pegged you as the Dancing Queen type."


	2. I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor

**AN: **First and foremost, I realized that saying it was Brennan's 30th birthday made her _really _young to be as renowned and acclaimed as she is. I know she mentioned sifting through remains in Waco back in the first season, but I still am a bit fuzzy on what her age technically is in the show. So instead of looking it up like any respectable writer may do, I decided to be lazy and just go with thirty three, because that seemed like a pretty safe bet. Old enough to be highly respected in her field, yet young enough to suit her appearance…And let herself go nuts for a night. And on that note…I know this story is absolutely ridiculous. It teeters perilously in and out of the realm of incredibly out of character, but hopefully I'm staying at least somewhat true to form (liberally speaking, of course) despite the ridiculous circumstances. These two are just adorable, and I think it's all kinds of fun to see them be flirty and silly and cute with no drama or angst holding them back. I'm having a blast writing it, so hopefully you guys enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing! A special thanks to those of you who left reviews; I've definitely got a few chapters I want to churn out with this, and if you guys are particularly enjoying it, maybe more!

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**2. **

"Ah, so you found him." As Brennan led Booth through the crowded dance floor, they were stopped by the familiar sound of Angela's voice and the sight of her sneaky smile. "It took her long enough. All she's been saying for the past hour is, 'where's my Booth?'"

Her _Booth?_ Booth thought to himself with a smirk. Angela glanced sideways at him, her grin growing wider. Quickly, Booth wiped the smug expression from his face and coughed uncomfortably.

"Ya don't say," he replied hastily, scratching the back of his head.

"Don't listen to her, Booth," Brennan commented, placing her hand on his chest. "She's just saying that because she wants to imply that there's more between us than our partnership. She's trying to make you squirm so that you'll finally make a move."

"And on _that_ note," Angela piped up, now laughing, "I'll let you two lovebirds have at it. Jack and I are heading out, but Brennan—" her demeanor suddenly changed from playful to serious, "you promise me you won't do anything stupid tonight?"

Brennan threw her head back and laughed. "Me? Do something stupid? Angela, clearly you underestimate my intelligence."

Angela glared warningly at her. "And clearly _you _underestimate your blood alcohol level." She knew why Brennan had thrown herself so _enthusiastically _into her "celebration," and she didn't want her friend to do anything she'd end up regretting. Or worst of all, something that would put herself in danger. Of course, were Brennan in a more stable state of mind, it wouldn't even need to be said, but Angela had never seen her like this before, and while it was fun at first, as the night wore on, she started to grow increasingly concerned. Turning back to Booth, her expression still serious. "You'll get our birthday girl back to her place in one piece?"

"Of course," Booth didn't skip a beat, his voice now serious as well. Before he had a chance to inquire about what had happened to prompt such a dramatic change of tone, Angela had her trademark grin back on and all hints of concern were expertly hidden by her unique charm.

"Always a gentleman, aren't we, Seeley?" She poked Booth in the side with her elbow, suggestively raising her eyebrows before shooting Brennan an overt wink. "Now you two kids be good."

Just as her best friend made her way through the crowd and out of sight, Brennan found an empty spot on the dance floor.

"I think Angela thinks that we're going to have sex tonight." Booth nearly tripped over his feet and chocked on his tongue at the words that came out of Brennan's mouth. Clearly, drunkenness was not indicative of tact; although tact never _was _her strong suit.

"Wha—You—Me—What?!"

"Oh relax, won't you? You can't tell me you weren't thinking about it anyway. I mean, you are a sexually active male, and it's a biological fact that in situations such as this, the mind tends to automatically gravitate towards thoughts of—"

"Alright, you know what? How about we just stick to the dancing and save this…_discussion_…for another time?"

"I made you uncomfortable, didn't I?"

"What? No! No, of course not. I'm not uncomfortable, I'm just thinking that maybe talking about—"

"You're rambling. And jittery. And keep running your hand through your hair nervously. I definitely made you uncomfortable. It's okay though!" She exclaimed, jumping as she raised her arms above her head in triumph. "You know why?"

"Um, why?"

"Because _we_," she stumbled forward, extending her arms out towards him. Placing her hands on his forearms, she pulled him closer. His eyes softened and a gentle smile played on his lips. "As in you and me," as the distance between them closed, Brennan placed her arms on his shoulders, "are _dancing_."

"Oh yeah?"

"_Yeah_."

Booth smiled teasingly. "I can honestly say I've never seen this side of you before, Bones." The music seemed to be getting louder, and Brennan just laughed.

"And?"

"And what?"

"And what do you think of Temperance Brennan, version 2.0?"

He had a witty comeback ready to deliver – something about how no volume of alcohol would be enough to hide her inner squint, which wasn't a bad thing because secretly, that's what he loved most about her – but the words were lost on him as his hand rested firmly on her hips and her crystal blue eyes sparkled with laughter. "I don't know," he grinned, staring at her in appraisal. It was strange to think that this young, vibrant, carefree woman before him was the same Doctor Temperance Brennan that drove him crazy on a daily basis. Yet, at the same time, it was strangely comforting, and undeniably adorable. Knowing full well that whatever he said tonight would most likely be forgotten come Monday, Booth went with his gut and let the mischievous glint in her eye beckon the flirtingly playful side of him he had spent the last three years working hard to repress. "It's really cute," he said finally with a charming half-smile.

"Hey, I'm not cute," she called out, resting her hands on her hips and tilting her head to the side with that mystical smile that Booth always found so captivating. "I'm a highly-respected, tough as nails, crime frighting forensic anthropologist."

"Crime frighting, eh?"

"Yes."

Booth shook his head with another laugh before pulling her hips flush against his. "Whatever you say, you _are _the expert after all."

"With a _doctorate_." She poked a warning finger in her face, laughing like a giddy little girl. "That means you have to listen to what I say!"

"Like you'd ever let me forget that."

"Is that jealousy I sense?"

"Whoa whoa whoa. Clearly you've got me all wrong, Bones. Which only further proves why _I _am the one who reads people, and _you _are the one who reads, well, bones."

"Well then, if you still think that, then you clearly underestimate my abilities, _Special Agent _Booth." She threw her head back slightly as she accented his title with an exaggerated eye roll. "I've picked up a lot more from you in the past few years then you realize."

"Oh yeah?" 

"Chyeah! And you wanna know a secret? I'm not as clueless as everyone likes to believe." She leaned her head closer towards his, her expression mischievous yet resolute.

"Really?" His eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head to the side with a sly grin, curious as to where this conversation would go. As if on their own volition, his hands tightened against her waist and he bit his lower lip.

"Really." The smell of alcohol was thick on her breath as she brought her face within inches of his. "I may not be able to read suspects as well as you – at least not _yet _– but I can read _you_ pretty well." 

"Me?" He teased, his eyes glued to hers.

"Yeah, you!" She smiled, letting her forehead rest against his. Her skin was warm and he blinked lazily as his hands slowly traveled up her sides.

"And?"

"And what?" She asked, with a laugh, repeating his earlier question.

"And whaddya see?" He dragged his gaze from her lips back to her eyes. "When you read me?"

"I see that…" her lips grew closer and closer to his so slowly that he was tempted to close the gap himself, "…you think…" her hands found their way to his neck and were now running through the hair on the back of his head, "…you haven't had enough tequila for us to be doing this." She threw her head back with laughter and let her hands slide down the front of his shirt as she pulled away.

"What a tease," Booth growled under his breath with a laugh. He knew that this couldn't happen – that she was his partner, and regardless of how much he wanted her to be more than _just _his partner, that this just absolutely couldn't happen – but something about her uninhibited, drunken smile and the wicked glint in her eye chased all rational thought from his mind. This game they were playing certainly put him on thin ice; ice that, once cracked, he was well aware could never freeze back over. It was against all of his better judgment, and he knew it. He absolutely couldn't let anything happen tonight, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy his present company in her current once-in-a-blue-moon condition.

Booth tilted his head, a cheeky smile tattooed resolutely – and perhaps permanently – on his lips. "Bones, Bones, Bones," he sighed, crossing his arms, "what are we going to do with you?"

"I don't know, what _will _you do with me?" She replied wickedly with a crooked half grin.

As he opened his mouth, surely ready to shoot back some witty response completely laced with innuendo, Brennan's jaw dropped and she started jumping up and down excitedly.

"Oh my god. _Oh my god_. Booth! This song! _This song_!" She shouted, sounding remarkably like a hyper, pre-pubescent girl.

Booth instinctively looked upward and heard the beginning chords of the B-52's "LoveShack" blasting through the speakers. He shook his head in disbelief as she started shimmying around in front of him.

"I'm headin' dooown the Atlanta highway," she crooned, grinning like a madwoman, "Lookin' for the love getaway! Heading for the looove getawaaay…" He knew they were supposed to be dancing, but it was hard to pay attention the task at hand as she raised one arm in the air and was twisting her hips and ruffling her hair in front of him. She could dance. Boy, she could _really _dance. So he stood there, simply watching in rapt amusement and as the song wore on, he couldn't help but find himself drawn in by her melodic voice and her fiery dance moves.

Her smile grew wider as she watched him jump around with her, singing the guy's parts just as flamboyantly as she sang the girl's. Half way through the song, she turned around, dancing with her back against his strong chest and letting her hands intertwine with his as they rested on her hips.

After a few moments, Brennan lifted his hands from her and jumped around to face him as they both sang (or really, shouted) the lyrics in unison. "I can't hear you…Bang bang! On the door, baby! Bang bang! On the door!"

"Wait wait wait wait," she tapped his chest eagerly, out of breath. "Booth, let me sing this part, it's the best part of the whole song." He smiled and bowed his head towards her, gesturing for her to do her thing.

"—You're _what_?!" Brennan yelled, feigning shock, before crinkling her nose and wrapping her arms around his neck once again, "tin roof…Rusted!"

They stood still together as the song continued – Brennan still dancing in place, and Booth beaming at her. "Would you kick my ass if I said that you should get drunk off your ass a little more often?" He joked, as the music smoothly transitioned into a much slower song.

"Um, yes!" Brennan laughed, out of breath. "Because by saying that you're implying that I'm boring and lame normally, which, I'll have you know, is _so _not true."

"Hey hey hey, don't go putting words in my mouth," Booth retorted, rubbing the back of his head as nervous energy built up in the muscles of his neck. Before he even had the chance to contemplate whether or not it would be a good idea to slow dance with his wildly inebriated partner who had already shown a penchant for tantalizingly flirtatious and teasing behavior, she had nestled herself in the crook of his neck.

"Mmm, you smell manly, Booth." A hearty laugh echoed from the pit of his stomach. Did his partner – his world-renowned, highly-respected forensic anthropologist partner, who just happens to also be a critically acclaimed best-selling author, just say he smelled, quote, manly? Quickly, she tilted her head up towards his with wide eyes. "Manly, as in, like a man."

This would certainly be a long night.

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**AN: **Have I gone off my rocker?! I think that is quite possibly the case. Reviews are like air, so click on over and drop a line!


	3. Let's Leave Before the Lights Come On

**3. **

About fifteen songs and three drinks later, Booth decided to intervene. He told Brennan it was time to head out before this seemingly innocent birthday celebration turned into Girls (with PhDs) Gone Wild: Washington DC. She, of course, had absolutely no idea what that meant, yet still laughed hysterically for few minutes, providing Booth with the prime opportunity to lead her out of the club while she was too distracted to realize what was going on.

"_Hey_, you're sneaky!" Brennan slurred as they made their way across the parking lot and towards his car. "That must be why the FBI loves you so much. Because you're _sneaky_! Super sneaky, even! Which would explain the _special agent_ status! Oh, Booth! It all makes so much sense now!"

Booth turned around, realizing suddenly that Brennan had veered off towards the side and was slowly making her way back towards the entrance of the club.

"Yes, yes, all because of my sneakiness," he replied as he jogged towards her, and led her by her shoulders back towards his SUV. "Atta girl."

"Hey! I'm not a _girl_, I'm a _woman_!"

"Whatever you say, babe."

A fit of uncharacteristic giggles overtook Brennan once again as she stopped in place, turned towards Booth, and threw her arms around his neck. "I love it when you call me babe, _babe_!"

Never, under any circumstances whatsoever, would Brennan have _ever _wanted words as heinously embarrassing as those leave her mouth.

Booth nodded exaggeratedly with a wide smile, as if he were talking to a small child. Clearly, she was a lost cause. There was no hope for sanity tonight, so he figured might as well play along. "I'll bet you a million bucks that I'll never hear you utter those words ever again."

"Oh my god, I would definitely bet you a million dollars if you weren't a self-destructive gambler on the verge of ruin! Because I'm not lying this time, I'm actually telling the truth! I wasn't supposed to ever say it out loud because I'd never hear the end of it from you and because we're partners not _partners_, but that doesn't make it any less true because it's the truth and I mean it. I swear. Scouts honor. Cross my heart, hope to die. Except I don't hope to die. But it is the truth. Really."

Booth's jaw hung open, an amused grin still plastered on his face as she stared at him with wide, puppy dog eyes. He never thought he'd see the day when Brennan would be reduced to utter incoherency – in fact, he didn't know such a thing was possible. It went in the same category as pigs growing wings and snowmen habituating the seventh circle of Hell. But boy, was he wrong, because here she was, a bumbling, stumbling, drunk girl revealing her inner thoughts and secrets to the very person those thoughts and secrets were regarding. He knew that he could never, _ever_, repeat the things he heard tonight – unless he was willing to endure a slow and painful verbal – and quite possibly physical – assault from a very sober, very un-amused Brennan – but that didn't mean he didn't revel in it. He always optimistically thought a part of her liked it when he let those pet names slip, even if she was in such vehement opposition to them. He saw his hope as a feeble attempt at self delusion, but now it seemed as though that self delusion was now becoming a legitimate possibility.

"First of all, I'm not on the verge of ruin. And I've gotten help, and am no longer self-destructive. Now second of all… I think it's time that we call it a night, don't you?"

"Why yes, I just so happen to agree, Seeley-Seeley-Bo-Beeley-Banana-Fanna-Fo-Feeley—"

Booth cringed. "Alright, now you're actuallystarting to _scare_ me."

Brennan reached out for his arm, and clung to it for dear life. Of course, Booth would never let anything happen between the two of them while she was like this, but he was a man, after all, and her overt…_friendliness_…wasn't exactly torture. Bones wasn't really the touchy feely type (to say the least) so it was a pleasant surprise to see her affectionate side shine through. It was cute, and it would be a lie if he said he didn't adore the way she clung to his upper arm and nestled herself against his side as they made their way to the car. He shook his head, his eyes twinkling with laughter as she struggled to shake the giggles.

"Did you know that you and my bed have the same name? Sealy Posturepedic, Seeley Booth…See, its _fate_. I know, I know, I know, I don't actually believe in fate, because it has absolutely no scientific basis in the rational world, but how else would you explain it? We were _clearly _being _thrown together _by some _power _of mattresses that is justgreater than the both of us and it has _fated_ us together." As he stared at her in complete and utter incredulity, she gasped sharply, and with a little jump, turned to face Booth. "Oh my god, I sleep on you every night!" The second the words came out of her mouth, she exploded with laughter, and pulled herself closer to him. "I mean, if I can't get _in _your bed, may as well get you _as _a bed!" If she had made just a little bit more sense, Booth _may_ had taken that little pseudo-confession more seriously, but the sheer ridiculousness of her words and laughter made him skeptical. But even while he was entirely certain that this was all the alcohol speaking, he couldn't stop the faint blush from washing over his cheeks as he listened to her continue to drunkenly babble about her, him, and her bed. He wasn't an expert in psychology, but the subtext seemed pretty glaringly obvious.

"Ah yes, Sealy Postrupedic. Not the first time I've heard that one…" He started, nervously laughing. "And probably not the last. Yet another reason why I did _not _name Parker after myself." Booth paused for a second, laughed to himself, then looked at her evilly. "Not to change the subject, but y'know, Bones, I never would have taken you for a dumb drunk—"

"WHAT?!" She screamed, genuinely insulted. Brennan immediately let go of his arm and throwing her hands up in disbelief. "You did _not _just say what I think you said. No, there's no way. I just refuse to believe it." Her outlandish reaction was quickly drawing attention to herself, and as other people left the club and made their way to their cars, they were starting to point and whisper. "I can_not _believe that you would ever say such a rude and hurtful thing to me, Booth. My inebriation in no way calls into question the glut of my knowledge of—"

"Whoa there, simmer down now Doctor Brainiac. I know you're a freakishly smart super-genius, no need to prove it to me with big words and complex sentences."

Brennan stubbornly crossed her arms and Booth nudged. "You sure no one slipped anything in one of your drinks back there?"

"—See, this is why I find you so unbelievably frustrating, Booth. Y'know what? I'd take my Sealy Posturepedic over you any day!"

He stopped by the passenger side door and opened it. "Okay, great. So first thing Monday morning, I'll have a mattress shipped to the Jeffersonian, and it can take my place. I'm sure Cullen would be thrilled to get me back at the FBI full-time, rather than splitting my days between the lab and there…Wait, actually, you know what, this is a _great _idea—" He started laughing as Brennan cut him off with a sharp push.

"Ha ha ha, you're so funny, you realize that, right?"

"And you're _so wasted_, so I think I win this time."

"You know Booth," she abruptly brushed the hair out of her face before putting her hands on her hips nodding her head towards him, all thoughts of her previous tirade gone from her mind. "All jokes aside, I feel like me and you have really come a long way during our time working together. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He leaned against the door and reached out towards her, running his hand up and down the length of her arm. "You know I feel the same way, Bones."

She looked down and smiled, then back up at him. "I think you may be my best friend, Booth."

While he was incredibly touched, and the words warmed every inch of his body, he wasn't naïve enough to believe that Brennan was entirely aware of what she was saying; after all, there was no way she could sober up _that _quickly.

"Oh wow, that means a lot, Bones. But what about Angela?"

"She's my best friend, too, but with you, it's just…I don't know. It's different. And it's getting stranger by the day because what I thought before was just carnal lust and sexual—"

Quickly, Booth cut her off and opened the door. They had clearly crossed over from giddy and hysterical drunk Brennan to emotional and verging on horny drunk Brennan. Dangerous territory that absolutely could not be crossed, because, quite frankly, he didn't trust himself around her. "Alrighty, now, let's get ourselves all set and buckled! In we go!"

He pushed her into the front seat and she fell with a loud "ouch!"

"Hey, I was in the middle of saying—"

"Y'know Bones, I think this is another one of those conversations that we should pause and save for another time. A time when we're both a bit more…_ourselves_. Sober, even. Actually, sober is ideal. A time when we'll both be fully aware of what we're saying and what the consequences of saying these things are and whether we're both willing to make that jump. You catch my drift?"

Brennan's eyes narrowed and she looked at him overtly suspicious as she nodded her head and fumbled with the seatbelt. "I know _exactly _what you're saying."

"Great! Now let me—" reaching over, he took the seatbelt from her hands and untangled the mess she had made out of it. She let her head droop close to his, and he could feel her penetrating gaze on his brow. "There we go."

He stood up and smiled warmly, and she pursed her lips, looking like a shy, nervous girl. Against his better judgment, he reached up and cupped her face in his large hands. Sometimes, when an opportunity arises, you have to reach out and grab it (no pun intended); especially when it comes to a woman who would ordinarily drop kick you if you so much as looked at her in the wrong way.

Brennan's eyes closed blissfully and a serene grin grew on her lips before she opened her them again slowly. 

"You are easily the most adorable drunk I've ever laid eyes on." Booth sighed, letting his thumb graze her jaw line for a split second before chuckling to himself as he stepped back to close the door.

"Hey, I'm not adorable!" He laughed out loud as he heard her scream out from the front seat.

---

The ride to Brennan's apartment calmed her down considerably. Booth had turned on the local jazz station, and as they drove in silence, he'd notice her eyes periodically droop closed and linger like that until a jerk of the car startled her back to the present. When they finally reached their destination and got out of the car, Brennan was no longer laughing hysterically, but rather muttering a vast array of expletives at her sudden inability to walk more than three steps before stumbling.

"Holy motherfuc—" Tripping over her left foot, she barreled forward, but was quickly caught in Booth's strong arms.

"Whoa there," he lifted one of her arms over his shoulder and snaked his around her waist, trying his best to keep her upright and balanced.

"Thanks, Booth," she breathed, almost as though she were talking to herself.

After a few minutes, they were able to maneuver their way through the lobby and towards the elevator. When they reached the door, he reached into her purse to unlock the door for her.

The apartment was as impeccably kept as always, and he sighed heavily as she lifted her arms from around him and walked towards the kitchen for a glass of water. He stood by the counter, watching her intently before she made her way to the couch and sat. Her sudden change of mood, while not unusual after a night of heavy drinking, told him that she had definitely not let loose for the sake of having a fun night. His job was to read people, and the heavy, tired expression that she now sported told him that this little binge was more than just that. She was unhappy. She wanted to escape something. But what? He wasn't quite sure, but he did now that now she was back in her apartment at nearly one in the morning, there was no escaping her whatever was bothering her, which probably explained her sudden dour air.

He stepped toward the couch cautiously, and she looked up with that same silly grin from outside the club, but now, considerably more tired. She placed her glass on her coffee table before reaching up and taking his hand in both of hers.

"Thank you so much, Booth," her thumbs ran up and down his hand, sending sparks down his body. He swallowed hard, pushing away the feelings that always seemed to rear their ugly head when she was initiated contact. He took a deep breath and smiled tiredly.

"Hey, just performing my civic duty here. Can't let a drunk girl leave a club alone – on her birthday at that! It's a dangerous world out there."

"Hey, I'm not a—" She retorted, letting go of his hand.

"I know, I know, you're a _woman_, right?"

"Right."

He stared down at her for a prolonged moment, and she just smiled. Turning his head to the side, he grinned, exchanging a knowing glance before looking at the door, then back at her. "So I guess this is where I call it a night and say I'll see you Monday."

The smile quickly faded from Brennan's face, and she furrowed her brow.

"I had a great time tonight, Bones. And you are quite a entertaining drunk." He laughed at he stared at his feet, then dragged his eyes up to meet hers. His breath caught in his throat for a split second before his eyes locked with hers, with a hint of sadness. There was something she wasn't telling him. Pushing these thoughts out of his mind, he decided to himself that he would talk to her when she was sober rather than still incredibly smashed. He smiled. "Happy birthday, Bones."

"Thanks, Booth." She smiled back.

"Alright," he clapped his hands and rubbed them together before turning towards the door, "now I'll turn you over to the other Sealy in your life, and bid you a fond farewell."

"Wait, no!" He turned around suddenly, startled by her little outburst.

"What?"

Brennan jumped onto her couch, tucking her knees beneath her as she reached out towards him. "Please, please, please don't go yet. I'm not ready to deal with this alone. Just don't go. Please."

Confused and concerned, he quickly moved towards her and took a seat on the couch.

"Deal with what alone?"

Exasperated, she sighed dramatically. "I'm not ready to be thirty three year old spinster who lives alone with her eighteen cats and who knits them little sweaters and doesn't really know anyone outside of work or get along with many people aside from skeletons of dead people that are brought to my lab. I'm just not ready!"

Booth stared at her, shocked. Finally, after a couple seconds, he started to laugh.

"What? My misery brings you amusement now? I'm glad to hear it. You know what, actually I'd rather you go after all." Brennan crossed her arms stubbornly once more and turned away from him on the couch.

"No can do," he said, between laughs. "you're stuck with me."

"Then why are you laughing at me?"

"Because it is absolutely hysterical how _not you_ you are when you're drunk."

"Not me? How do you not know this isn't what I'm really like behind the normally demure exterior?"

He looked into her eyes for a prolonged moment, then grinned once again. "Yeah, no. This _definitely _isn't you."

Brennan just rolled her eyes and sighed.

"I don't want to be _old_," she moaned, throwing herself headfirst into the cushions on the couch.

It would definitely be a longer night than Booth initially thought.

**---**

**AN: **So, I have a really clear idea of how much longer this fic will last, however, that's of course subject to change depending on how you guys feel. Regardless, you guys have a few more chapters to look forward to! I hope you're having a good time reading this train wreck of insanity; honestly if anyone feels like I'm completely butchering the characters, please feel free to tell me so. I've kind of taken free reign here, and have let myself go a little crazy with it and I'm afraid that I've been blinded by their silly flirtatiousness. In the coming chapters, Brennan will slowly start to get back to her normal self, so hopefully I'll feel less insecure about characterization come then!

Thanks for reading, and remember: reviews feed my soul!


	4. A Certain Romance

**4. **

"So wait, let me try and get this straight," Booth folded one leg under him as he leaned an arm on the back of the couch. "You're trying to tell me that you're an old hag destined to die alone? You, the same person who believes that marriage is a pointless, antiquated ritual that has no value or purpose in this society—"

What Booth had learned in the past half hour was that Brennan was not a dumb drunk, nor was she a horny drunk. She was a let-me-reveal-my-deepest-darkest-secrets-to-you drunk. He, of course, didn't mind the welcome change of pace. In fact, it nice to actually hear what thoughts were running through that complex mind of hers. It was like the missing piece of their relationship was found, and the open gap was filled. She was letting him in to a part of her life that she'd never really let him in before, and he liked it. So what if she wasn't exactly aware that this was happening? You had to start somewhere, right?

"Booth, this has absolutely nothing to do with my stance on marriage." Now sitting cross legged on the couch facing her partner, each word that left Brennan's mouth was marked by a flagrant hand gesture, despite the growing weariness in her eyes.

"Uh, yeah, it kinda does!"

"It does not! This is about me letting the best years of my life pass me by without so much as a care or concern about fostering meaningful, long-lasting relationships. This is about me becoming an old cat lady."

"First of all, you're not an old cat lady, and you'll never be an old cat lady."

"And how would you know that?"

"You don't really seem like much of a cat person. Cats are independent and assertive, and so are you. It would be a clash of the titans, man." He paused for a second, contemplating. "_But_…I wouldn't rule out lizards. Passive creatures…Ready and willing to be completely domineered by their owners."

"_Lizards_?!" Brennan dramatically launched herself onto the side of the couch. "How is that supposed to make me feel any better, Booth?"

"Hey, lizards are much easier to handle than cats! You should be thanking me." His eyes danced as he watched her head hanging over her arms which were flung on the back of the couch. He could feel wisps of her hair brushing against his fingertips, and it took all the strength he could muster not to take her face in his hands and pull her to him; to _show_ her that she wasn't alone – that she'd never be as long as he was around – and that she sure as hell wasn't a hag. Instead, he let his head rest on the back of the couch, and tilted it towards hers so they were inches apart. Reaching over, he lifted her chin up and her eyes met his.

"Hey now, what's really going on here?" His hand lingered on her chin and she sighed heavily, leaning into his touch.

"I'm just tired. I'm tired of this all." She breathed behind closed eyes. While the alcohol was primarily to blame, Booth could tell she was worn out, both physically and emotionally.

"What 'all'?" He asked softly. While his hand fell from her chin, his eyes traced the outline of her eyelid; of each eyelash.

"Of coming home to an empty apartment and eating dinner by myself and spending the weekend working alone and—"

"You know you don't have to spend your weekends working." Her eyes fluttered open, and immediately he knew it wasn't the work. Still, it never hurt to remind her.

"It's not the work part, the work part I actually like. It's just…" She lifted her head from the couch and seemed to have caught her second wind. "It would be nice to just have someone around. Sitting on my couch doing the crossword or reading a book as I sift through files and anthropology annals. But no, I spend my nights alone and then I go to work and connect more with the stale, bony corpses lying on the examination table than most of the people I actually know in my life. I'm cold and I'm distant and I'm emotionally detached—"

"Whoa there, Bones, lets slow down and take this step by step." Booth sat up as well, following Brennan's lead. Running a hand through his hair, he took a breath. "I know you're in that mode where everything feels shitty, but let's be honest with ourselves here."

"I am being honest with myself. I'm always honest with myself."

"Really?" Booth questioned with a taunting grin. She raised an eyebrow, then rolled her eyes. She looked down at the couch for a moment before – much to Booth's surprise – taking his hand between her own. Splaying his fingers between her palms, she ran them flush against the contours of his hand, and he couldn't help but grin as she her fingers danced against his. Seeing Bones like this was a refreshing change; it made him want to laugh and jump up and shout, "See? I knew there was a normal girl somewhere under all that armor!" But at the same time, it made him want to grab her by the shoulders, and shake some sense into her. She wasn't like every other woman out there; she wasn't supposed to have fears and doubts and insecurities. She was the indestructible – and at times, insufferable – Temperance Brennan. She didn't trace flowers against your palm with the tip of her index finger, she pounded fists against flesh leaving small asymmetric bruises in her wake.

"You are _not_ a cold, distant drone, Bones. You're a calculating, meticulous, genius of a scientist—"

"I never called myself a drone, and this isn't helping, Booth," she sighed exasperatedly, glaring up at him.

"Lemme finish, will ya?" He reprimanded her then shook his head with an exhausted "sheesh!" "You're a calculating, meticulous, genius of a scientist who is able to build a life from the lifeless. It's not just a job to you, it's a way of life. It's a way to leave your own impression on the world by giving people back their dignity and making their memories whole. Distancing yourself is your self-preservation mechanism, and you already know this. You're the one who tells me that it's easier that way; that it lets you get the job done."

"I know, I know, but I'm not talking about my job here. I'm good at my job, there's no doubt about that."

He threw his head back and let out a loud chuckle. "And modest, too, ladies and gentleman."

"Hardy har."

"Hardy har har, Bones. Hardy har har."

"What?"

"Forget about it. You were saying?"

"I'm just saying that I've spent so many years doing just that – immersing myself in my work and distancing myself from my emotions, I'm just afraid that I've forgotten how to…" As she trailed off, her eyes wandered from his to the bookshelf across the room.

"How to what?" He angled his head downward, inching it slightly towards hers.

"I don't know." She sighed, her eyes glued to her hands. "How to feel, I guess." Finally dragging her gaze to his, they simply stared at each other for a prolonged moment. Booth was startled out of his reverie by the sound of her abrupt, nervous laughter as she turned her head to the side, not wanting to look at him. "That sounds stupid, I know."

"No, no it doesn't." It was absolutely impossible for her to ever say something stupid, even as drunk as she currently was. He tapped on her knee, bringing her attention back to him. "It doesn't."

"It's just…Ninety percent of the time I'm not working, I'm alone, and I don't even care. It doesn't even faze me. It's absolutely normal, and sometimes even preferable. I don't want to be around other people because then I have to work fit in and seem normal. I can never just be myself. And now, I've gotten to the point where I'm thirty three – thirty fucking three years old, Booth – and I'm sitting here wondering, is this what the rest of my life is going to be like? Have I sealed my fate? If you had asked me three days ago if that was the case, I wouldn't have cared either way. In fact, I'd probably be happy with the way things are. But now…Now I'm just filled with this emptiness. I'm not saying I want to get married, I just…I just don't want to be alone. Eighteen years of my life was long enough."

Booth lifted his hand back up to her face, letting his thumb slowly stroke her jaw. "You know you're not alone." Brennan's eyes met his own, and despite their drunken haze, he could have sworn he saw a spark. Quickly, she looked away.

"I know," she said quietly, "but we're just partner—"

"C'mon now, Bones," his tone lightened up for a brief moment as he spoke her oft-used nickname, then dampened as he continued, "don't give me that line. We're more than that. We always have been."

"I know," she practically whispered, her eyes still planted firmly on the couch.

Booth coughed abruptly, taking his hand from her face, the absence of his touch leaving her skin cold. "Y'know, Bones, I know you probably won't remember this come morning, but…" He took a deep breath then looked back up at her with a reluctant smile, "you can open up to me, you know. And I don't just mean while you're verging on black-out drunk. You can open up to me whenever. I'm always around. I'm always here for you."

With that, a grateful smile spread across Brennan's lips, and she reached up, taking his face in her hands. His breath caught in his throat as he felt her thumb brush briefly over his lips before she leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on that same spot, as though she were marking it as her own. With an exhausted sigh, she let her hands drop from his face and rest on his chest.

"You're a good man, Seeley Booth. You're a good man."

Words were lost on him as he felt her lean against him, resting her head in the crook of his neck. Almost without thinking, his arm found its place against her back and he felt her breath against his neck as she spoke muffled words into his skin. He felt like he was both on fire and frozen to the core, unable to move or speak or even think. Everything was a blur, but all he knew was that he was here, now, with her, and for him, things would never quite be the same.

In fact, he was so caught up in his own thoughts, he barely noticed as her arms wound around his neck, and her breathing slowed to a lethargic pace. Looking down at the sleeping form against him, he laughed to himself. Leave it to Bones to throw a curve then fall asleep.

Slowly, he reached his hand up and it hovered nervously a few inches above her head for a moment. Finally, pursing his lips, he let his it gently rest on her hair, smoothing it down with each soft stroke. Instinctively pulling her tighter against him, he let his tired eyes droop closed.

---

**AN: **Thanks for all the great reviews and continued interest, guys! I'm thinking we've got one more chapter and an epilogue to go. But have no fear, I'll try to beef them up and make them long ones. Hope you all enjoyed this one, and that you all had a lovely holiday!


	5. Stickin' to the Floor

**5. **

He should have realized that someone of her petite stature wouldn't last long after the night she had. As he sat on her bathroom floor, his back resting against the tub, one hand sturdily supporting Brennan's limp body, and the other stroking her hair comfortingly, he felt like he was in a dream. She clung to the toilet seat, her head hovering inches above it as waves of peristalsis shook her body and the contents of her stomach emptied, soiling her otherwise pristine white toilet. The misty haze of sleep had yet to wear off and the whole situation was so utterly…_bizarre_…it was difficult for Booth to really register what was going on.

They couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour or two when he felt her rustle against him, shoot up on the couch, and let out a weak whimper before jetting to the bathroom. He didn't think twice as he jumped off the couch as well and followed her. While he was more used to handling four year olds' upset stomachs, the curse of a hard-hitting hangover was nothing new to him. A part of him nagged, saying that Brennan would never want him to see her like this; weak and exposed. There was just something so utterly demeaning about hanging lifelessly from a porcelain toilet as you fell prey to the biology of your stupid, stupid decisions. This nagging, however, was easily shot down by Booth's ever-present, over-protective side. He wouldn't let her suffer alone.

She mumbled incoherencies into the seat before raising her head slightly. "Worst decision of my life."

Booth smiled as his eyes drooped closed and his hand continued to stroke her head before resting at the base of her neck.

Reaching up limply, she flushed the toilet before sliding back down. She covered her face with her arm then muttered, "how could you ever let me do that to myself?"

Lazily, Booth's eyes drifted back open. "Let you?" He laughed.

When his gaze settled upon her slumped form, he forced himself up and pulled her to spot he had previously occupied against the tub. Stepping over her tangled legs, he turned on the sink, and grabbed a hand towel from the hook on the wall. He waited for the water to cool slightly before reaching a hand under the faucet. Deciding that it was cool enough, he placed the washcloth beneath it as well. After he let it soak completely, he turned the faucet off and wrung the towel out. He looked over his shoulder quickly, unsure of Brennan's status, seeing as she had suddenly grown eerily quiet.

With a sigh, he took a step forward, and crouched down beside her.

"Hey," he called softly as he lifted her chin towards him with his index finger and thumb. Her eyes fluttered, stuck somewhere between twilight and delirium. He chuckled humorlessly to himself as he gently moved errant strands of hair out of her face, placing them behind her ear. "Geez Bones, for such a smart woman, you certainly make questionable choices."

Slowly, he ran the damp towel across her forehead, then down the side of her face. He smiled to himself as her head moved and she mumbled indecipherably in response to his comment.

"Don't worry, you can thank me later," he said, almost to himself, as he wiped the towel over her mouth, and folded it before running it down her neck.

Standing back up, he threw the towel onto the counter haphazardly before trifling around for a toothbrush and toothpaste. While he was quite aware that she very well had a few more bouts of vomit left in her, he remembered hearing long ago something about the stomach acid eroding the enamel of your teeth. Were Bones in a slightly more aware state of mind, he was sure she would have done the same. He filled up a glass with some water before squeezing a small amount of toothpaste onto her brush and heading back towards her. He sat down beside her, then turned her head towards his own.

"Open," he commanded, gently tugging at her jaw, and for once, she actually listened. Her mouth opened slightly, just enough for him to shove in the toothbrush and get a few good strokes in. As he pulled the brush out, he quickly brought the cup up to her face, "sip and swish." With that, Brennan took a small gulp of water, swished it in her mouth for a brief moment, then spit it back into the cup, which Booth was holding just under her chin.

"Good girl," he muttered with a grin as he placed the mug down on the ground, toothbrush and all. Finally, he leaned back exhausted against the tub, and wrapped a protective arm around Brennan and let sleep overtake him once again.

---

Surprisingly they had no more early morning vomit wake-up calls, and when the sunlight flooding through the curtains pried Booth's eyes open, Brennan was still sound asleep. Rubbing his eyes lazily, he yawned before letting out a small groan as he shifted positions against the tile. His neck was sore and stiff from the twisted position he had fallen asleep in, yet he didn't mind the pain as the sound of Brennan's faint snore filled the small bathroom. He laughed to himself, grinning like a madman. The possibilities for blackmail were seemingly endless.

As he struggled to sit up, Booth heard a hitch in Brennan's snores. Immediately, he stilled himself, trying his best not to wake her. Instinctively, she nudged herself closer to him before the soft, rhythmic snore once again filled the bathroom.

He was stuck.

Turning his wrist over, Booth checked his watch. 6:45 AM. Pushing away all complaints of how it was absolutely unethical to get up at this hour on a Saturday morning, he realized there was no possible way Brennan would be waking up any time soon. Someone as hung over as his partner would invariably be out for a good, oh, four more hours. If not more.

With that fact in mind, he slowly eased himself up, lifting her with him as he stood. As he stood at full height, he shifted her slightly in his arms, letting her head rest in the crook of his neck. Almost as if on cue, Brennan brought her arms around his neck, and muttered something softly in her sleep.

_Like hell we're _just _partners_, he thought to himself as he carried her towards her couch, before resting her gently on its soft cushions. He stepped back, looking around the apartment for a brief moment, scanning for something she could use as a blanket. Finally, he found a throw slung across the back of her ottoman. Opening it up, he leaned down and spread it gently over Brennan's sleeping body.

As he stood up, Booth crossed his arms and stared at Brennan thoughtfully. Logically speaking, he had two options here. He could either leave a note and exit her apartment as unsuspectingly as possible, or he could stay and make her breakfast. The first, of course, was what he knew he _should _do. The second, though, seemed like the more appealing alternative. He also had a third, quite illogical possible scenario that seemed particularly inviting: jumping into that couch with her, pulling her tight against him, and letting himself sleep in the way he should have this bright Saturday morning.

Shaking away his ridiculous fantasies, Booth turned away from the living room, and headed towards the kitchen. What he needed now, more than anything, was a strong cup of coffee.

---

When Brennan's eyes slowly crept open, she gasped slightly and bolted up, immediately searching for the time. 9:00 AM. She panicked for a brief moment, before the smell of coffee and waffles filled her senses, and it dawned on her: it was Saturday. It was Saturday because yesterday was Friday. Friday as in, her thirty third birthday. The same birthday she decided to go "all out" in celebrating. The same birthday that left her with this splitting headache and one of the worst hangovers she had ever experienced.

The blanket fell as she brought a hand to her head and groaned slightly. Well that explained the hangover, but what about the breakfast?

Her eyes widened as they shot towards the kitchen, as Booth's unmistakable whistle floated out towards her.

_I didn't—We didn't—_

Frantic, she lifted the blanket, desperately hoping there were clothes under there. Breathing a sigh of relief, she threw the blanket off and rushed towards the kitchen, stopping abruptly at the counter as the throbbing pain in her temples finally caught up with her.

"Oh whoa there, Bones, way to scare a man while he's sautéing veggies!" Booth had a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder, and were she not absolutely petrified of the reason he would give her for standing in her kitchen and cooking her breakfast, Brennan would have smiled and found the whole scene quite cute.

"I didn't—We didn't—Me and you…We…" The words didn't want to come out of her mouth, and the growing grin on Booth's face didn't calm her fears in the least.

"We didn't…_What_, Bones?"

"We didn't …"

"Have sex?" Booth finished her thought flippantly, turning back towards the omelet he was working on. "No, no we didn't."

"Oh thank _God_," Brennan sighed, covering her face with her hands.

Booth couldn't help but feel at least slightly offended at the sheer relief in Brennan's tone. Was the thought of them actually having sex together really _that bad_? His jaw clenched even though his mind told him it was stupid to even entertain such thoughts. This was the way things were, and her response was completely normal, given their circumstances. Completely normal. His jaw only clenched more at that feeble attempt at rationalization.

"Booth, I can't remember _anything _from last night," she groaned, pulling herself onto a stool and leaning on the counter, "and I don't think I've ever been so hung over in my life."

He forced a laugh as he shook the frying pan in front of him.

"Well, given what you went through last night, I gotta say, I'm not surprised."

"—Wait, if we didn't…_you know_…then why are you still here?" She lifted her head from her hands and stared at Booth in bewilderment.

Why _was _he still here? The answer seemed a lot clearer when she was still asleep.

"Um…Well…" He stumbled over his words, unsure of what possible excuse he could give other than the fact that he wanted to see her wake up and cook her breakfast and just be around her. No, that excuse didn't seem wise at all.

Furrowing her brow, it suddenly dawned on her. "Oh wai—Wait. I think I do remember _something_…" She gasped before hiding her face in her hands once again. "I vomited last night, didn't I?" Her voice was muffled, and he just chuckled.

"Yes, yes you did."

"And you stayed to make sure I was alright."

"Uh…Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly it."

"Please tell me I didn't vomit on you."

"You didn't vomit on me."

"Oh thank God," she sighed, now running her hands through her hair.

"…That much." Booth finished with a laugh as Brennan's eyes grew wide.

"I am so sorry, Booth—"

Reaching for a plate, he slowly eased the omelet from the pan to the dish. "Hey forget about it. I've been through worse. But now that we've got all that straightened out, let me give you this—" he reached for the coffeemaker and poured a mug, then handed it to Brennan before nudging two aspirin towards her, "and tell you what the Chef Booth has prepared for you this lovely morning."

---

**AN: **Sorry for the delay! Once again, thanks for all the great reviews and all your interest in this little piece! I've got a couple more chapters up my sleeve, so stay tuned!


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